


what you longed for

by Harp_of_Gold



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Aftermath of Whipping, Anal Sex, Blood, Boot Worship, Choking, Deepthroating, Forge Sex, Humiliation, Hurt/No Comfort, Lord/vassal, M/M, Masturbation, Overstimulation, Possessive Sex, Roughness, Unhealthy Relationships, Unwelcome Arousal, angbang, rape as punishment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:28:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23590849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harp_of_Gold/pseuds/Harp_of_Gold
Summary: Melkor has just returned to Angband with the Silmarils and a worse temper than ever before. Mairon doesn't mean to get on his bad side, but he pays dearly for it.
Relationships: Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor/Sauron | Mairon
Comments: 13
Kudos: 84
Collections: Smut 4 Smut 2020





	what you longed for

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wildcard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wildcard/gifts).



The forge fire was burning down to embers, casting a soft orange glow over Mairon's workshop. Shadows filled the corners. It was the one place where he felt completely secure. None of his underlings would dare to disturb their Lieutenant here, and Melkor…Mairon bit back a quiet sob. Melkor had shown no interest in seeking him out alone. Not since his return. Mairon's back still throbbed with enough pain to make him light-headed if he moved too fast, and when he shifted, his shirt, stuck to his skin with drying blood, threatened to tear open his wounds again. He wished he hadn't put it back on, but his dignity had seemed more important at the time. Whipped, in front of everyone, just for speaking up in council. That was his _job;_ what else did Melkor want of him? 

He sighed and put away the last of his tools. He'd gotten them out only to stare at the piece of iron in his hand without even heating it. He hadn't been able to focus, and maybe that was best. His back couldn't take that kind of effort right now, not really. He knew better than to heal it; he wouldn't put it past Melkor to pull his shirt up and look anytime it occurred to him, and if the marks were gone too soon, he’d do it all again. If he were still angry. His moods were faster shifting and harder to read than Mairon had ever known. Whatever the Valar had done to him in their land beyond the ocean, it hadn't been gentle or kind. 

Mairon thought he'd sleep here tonight. He'd turn into a wolf and curl up on the floor where the forge's heat had seeped into the stones. He couldn't bear the small, cold bed in the little room he'd taken when Melkor growled at him to leave the bedroom they'd always shared. He'd slept alone there for long ages, imagining he could still smell Melkor's scent on the pillows. And now Melkor was home, and he didn't even get that. _No. I mustn’t harbor this resentment. He's my lord still. My everything. And He came home with such frightful injuries! He needs time and room to heal, and not to be pestered with my needs._ Or educated opinions, his more cynical side added. Mairon shook his head. He didn't have to agree with his lord's corrections to take them to heart and adjust his behavior accordingly. If that meant the potential use of the Silmarils as bargaining chips was forever off the table, so be it. He'd do everything in his power to please Him and to end this little dispute with upstart elves (he wouldn't think of the awful fire in their eyes, or how many balrogs the most terrible had slain before falling himself, or of the others on the way, walking fearlessly across the ice), and someday—someday _soon_ —Melkor would summon him to His bed once more.

Leaning half-seated on the edge of his anvil, one foot resting on its base, Mairon unfastened his breeches and slid his hand inside to wrap around his cock. Melkor would have him to bed, and they'd reunite with all the impassioned ferocity of the parted, scorched air where lightning had passed. He imagined Melkor's mouth hungrily devouring his, nails scoring his sides, demanding fingers inside him, too desperate to take it slow. Melkor pulling his head back, making him arch as he thrust into him mercilessly. Biting down on his shoulder until he screamed and lost himself in the ecstasy of belonging to the Mighty One. His hand moved faster as he thought of Melkor whispering in his ear all he'd longed for—how well he'd served, how beautiful and precious he was, how deeply Melkor had yearned to see him. The three words that were only spoken in the silence and the dark, wreathed in each other's arms, when all else was still.

Mairon's breath came faster, and he tensed as his body neared this pale imitation of real pleasure.

“Well, little flame. I see you've learned to satisfy yourself just fine alone.”

Mairon's eyes snapped open, and he looked up into the face of his lord. He tried to speak, to explain, but no words came out in his terror.

“The same way you've learned to rule in my stead, hmm?”

“N-no, my lord. Everything I've done was for you! Everything was only in your name!”

“And you believed that throwing away my greatest prizes would be a fitting way to serve me?” They glared balefully above His forehead, set in iron that Mairon could have forged better, if he'd been allowed. Tawdry elvish gems. Why did Melkor choose them over his craft?

“I…it was only a thought, my lord. A fearful and unworthy one. I willingly bore your punishment.”

Melkor traced the line of his cheek with gloved fingers. He'd taken to covering his hands soon after his arrival, but Mairon had seen the burns that went right down to bone, and he knew how little they'd healed. Mairon pressed cautiously into the touch, craving it, hungry for the slightest affection. “Oh, precious. You thought it was finished? Be grateful I chose to make you suffer only that portion in public.”

“My lord?” Mairon’s voice fell to a frightened whimper.

Melkor leaned closer, his breath ghosting over Mairon's ear. “You've forgotten your place, little Maia. You've forgotten you belong to Me. All that you are,” he glanced at Mairon's cock, which to his horror was still hard, “and all that you conceive should be fully bent to My glory. You will have it foremost in your mind before you dare speak in council again. As if there could be any excuse for suggesting My humiliation! _Trading away the Silmarils!_ If I ever hear the faintest notion of such disrespect from you again, I will treat you as the vilest traitor, and you will deserve it.”

“Yes, lord,” Mairon whispered. 

Melkor grabbed his hair and shoved him down. His knees hit the stone floor with a bruising crack. In his anguish, it took Mairon a moment to realize what his lord intended as he pulled out his cock and stroked himself. “Please, no. Not like this. Please, I only ever wanted to make you happy…”

Holding him tight, Melkor pushed his cock against Mairon's lips, prying his mouth open and ramming himself down his throat, refusing him even the chance to obey. “You still don't understand.”

Mairon choked and gagged around the harsh intrusion. Melkor was huge, and Mairon's lips were crushed against his groin. He met Melkor's gaze, eyes wide with hurt and violation. 

“You belong to me.” He pulled back a little and thrust hard again. His fingertips brushed over the bulge where his cock stretched Mairon's throat, and he squeezed, fucking his own hand through Mairon's aching flesh. “You exist for me to use any way I desire.” Black spots danced in Mairon's vision. He knew he didn't really need to breathe, but this weak body was fast convincing itself otherwise, and Melkor laughed at his pitiful attempts to gasp for air. “You don't get a choice; you don't get to oppose Me; you just fulfill My will. And if you can't find the right words to do that, I have other uses for your mouth.”

Tears leaked from Mairon's eyes, and spit was running down his chin. This wasn't the Master he remembered. But Melkor was his Master still, no matter how altered in his rage, and he tried to relax his throat, to stop fighting, to keep his teeth covered, even as everything in him was crying out for this to end. He couldn't tell if Melkor noticed his efforts, but the Vala paused, studying him. He nudged Mairon's legs apart and slammed his foot into his balls. Mairon would have collapsed in pain without Melkor's hand fisted in his hair, keeping him upright. Suddenly his throat was free, and he struggled to suck air into his burning lungs.

“What were you thinking about, when I came in?”

It was nearly impossible to focus, but somehow Mairon scraped together the sense of what he was asked. “You, my lord.” His throat was raw, and every word hurt. “Only you.” 

“I see.” Melkor laughed darkly. “Such loyalty should be rewarded, then.” He threw Mairon over the anvil, ripping his breeches off in the process. His stomach hit the unforgiving steel hard enough to knock out what breath he had. That would be another bruise. Melkor thrust inside him with one long, hard stroke. Mairon screamed as something tore. _At least the blood will make me slick,_ he thought, the words dancing in his head as all other thought was forced from him. Melkor fucked him in a grotesque parody of his earlier fantasies. Every movement burned. Mairon scrabbled for anything to hold onto, to brace himself against the brutal thrusts while he clenched helplessly on Melkor's member, as if anything he did could stop him. A heavy throb of arousal woke between his legs as his lord filled him again and again. His body betraying him, he thought resentfully. 

Of course Melkor noticed. His fingertips closed on Mairon's cock, erect and weeping despite himself, and Mairon groaned aloud. “That's what you wanted, isn't it, little whore? What you longed for, touching yourself alone?” 

His strokes sparked mounting pleasure. Mairon hated every moment. _Not like this,_ he told himself. _Not like this._ “Yes, my lord,” he gasped. “I don't deserve your mercy.”

“Indeed you don't. But I am a gracious lord.” He thrust deeply, and Mairon felt his hot seed fill him. That was all it took for him to come too, and he sobbed as the force of it wracked him. Melkor slipped from him, and viscous liquid dripped from his ass and down his thighs. Melkor's fingers were still on him, with intimate knowledge of his most sensitive spots, and his momentary pleasure quickly turned to torment as Melkor kept stroking him relentlessly. He didn't dare beg for him to stop. “What you wanted,” Melkor whispered again in his ear.

“Thank you, my lord.” Melkor was surely savoring his humiliation in saying it, but he knew what was expected, and he mustered all the sincerity he could through his tears. Nothing less would do. He felt a trickle of blood run down his back, and only now as his orgasm faded did the searing agony from whip lashes reopened wash over him.

Finally Melkor withdrew. “What a mess you've made.”

Mairon looked down and saw seed tinged pink and droplets of blood spattered on the floor and over Melkor's boots.

“Clean it up,” Melkor ordered. “Show me you've learned how to behave again.”

Trembling, Mairon knelt and laved his tongue over the fouled leather, licking his Master's boots clean of every trace. _I would have offered this willingly too, if you’d only let me. I would have worshipped You with all that I am. You never had to take it._ But he couldn't say anything aloud. He worked until his tongue ached as much as the rest of him, until the taste made him gag, until he couldn't separate the copper tang of blood from the salt-musk of his Master's pleasure, and they ran together in his mind like the devastated wasteland that was all he could see before him.

“That's enough, Lieutenant.” Satisfaction rumbled in Melkor's voice, but not a scrap of tenderness. “I trust you'll remember this next time you’re tempted by so stupid an idea. You'll attend me tomorrow night. It's time you resumed all your duties.” He walked out without a backward glance, black robes swishing behind him. Mairon slumped against the anvil where he knelt and wept bitterly.


End file.
